Chapter 6: The Media Circus & The DNA Threat

The flashbulbs outside the Vance Enterprise building were so dense they created a continuous, blinding sheet of white light. Rain drizzled over the morning commute, but the weather had done nothing to disperse the crowd of reporters, camera crews, and private security guards choking the grand entrance.

Inside the glass-walled executive foyer, Julian Vance stood with his hands jammed deep into his suit pockets. His jaw was clenched so tight the muscle beneath his skin twitched continuously.

"Mr. Vance, the legal team is waiting in Conference Room A," his assistant, David, murmured, keeping his eyes fixed on his tablet. "The press release regarding the gallery event has already been drafted, but..."

"Cancel the press release," Julian cut in. His voice was low, rasping from a night spent without a single minute of sleep.

David paused, blinking. "Sir? The media is running wild with the photos from last night. They’re calling 'Nyx' a ghost. The stock market is already reacting to the rumors that—"

"I don't care about the stock market, David," Julian turned slowly, his gray-blue eyes dark and bloodshot. "Tell the legal department I want every law firm in this city on retainer by noon. No one works for her. No one."

"She already has representation, sir," David said carefully. "Her team isn't local. The foundation registered its legal proxy out of London three years ago. The firm representing her is Kingsley & Partners."

Julian’s eyes narrowed. "Kingsley? That’s Marcus’s family firm."

"Yes, sir. Dr. Marcus Vance is listed as her primary legal guarantor in the country."

Julian let out a sharp, cold breath through his nose. Marcus. The man who had pronounced Aria dead on the rainy riverbank five years ago. The man who had handed Julian a plastic bag containing her waterlogged personal belongings while looking him dead in the eye.

"Get Marcus on the phone," Julian ordered, walking toward his private elevator. "Now."

Three miles away, in the quiet, sunlit drawing room of a private townhouse, Aria sat on a beige velvet sofa. A steaming cup of Earl Grey tea rested on the glass table before her, entirely untouched.

Across from her, Dr. Marcus Vance paced back and forth across the hardwood floor, a tablet tucked under his arm.

"He knows, Aria," Marcus said, stopping near the window. "He’s called my office six times this morning. He also called the hospital board. He’s trying to freeze the foundation’s local operating accounts."

Aria didn't look up from her phone. On the screen, a trending article showed a high-resolution photo from the night before. It captured Julian, frozen in place at the bottom of the grand staircase, looking up at her as if he had seen a phantom.

"Let him freeze them," Aria said calmly, taking a slow sip of her tea. "The primary accounts are held in Zurich under the foundation's corporate entity. He can’t touch a single pound."

"It’s not just the money, and you know it," Marcus walked over and sat in the armchair opposite her. His expression was heavy with concern. "He saw Leo and Maya, Aria. He isn't blind. He has those exact same eyes, and he isn't stupid."

"Seeing them proves nothing in a court of law," Aria replied, her voice steady, though her fingers tightened slightly around the handle of her teacup. "Legally, the children were born in the UK. Their birth certificates list no father. He has no legal standing, no custody rights, and no proof."

"He will ask for a DNA test."

"And I will refuse."

"He can file a court order," Marcus warned. "In this city, Julian Vance controls half the judicial appointments. If he files an emergency petition for a paternity assessment—"

"Then we leave," Aria said, looking Marcus directly in the eye. "We take the evening flight back to London. I came here to set up the gallery branch and clear my name regarding The Phoenix Series. I didn't come here to play house with a ghost from my past."

Before Marcus could respond, the heavy wooden doors of the drawing room swung open.

Four-year-old Leo walked in, dragging a small black laptop by its edge. His messy dark hair fell over his forehead, and his sharp gray-blue eyes were fixed on the screen. Behind him, Maya followed, clutching a half-eaten strawberry pastry and looking thoroughly unimpressed.

"Mom," Leo said, stepping up to the sofa. "The tablet in the kitchen stopped working, the news won't play."

Aria’s demeanor softened instantly. She set her cup down and pulled Leo closer, smoothing his hair. "I turned the news off, sweetheart. It’s boring adult stuff anyway."

"It’s not boring," Leo muttered, tapping a key on his laptop. "The man from the gala is standing outside our building. He has six security guys with him. I saw them on the front lobby camera."

Aria’s body went rigid. "What?"

"I hooked my laptop into the building's feed last night," Leo explained casually, as if talking about a toy train set. "There’s a shiny black car parked in the loading bay too. The license plate says JV-01."

Marcus immediately stood up, walking quickly toward the front balcony. He pulled the sheer curtain back an inch and looked down at the street.

"He’s here," Marcus said, his voice dropping an octave. "He bypassed the front gate. He must have bought out the building's management company this morning."

A heavy knock echoed through the townhouse, rattling the solid oak front door.

Maya took a bite of her pastry and looked at Aria. "Is that the tall man who looked like he was going to cry at the party last night?"

"Maya, go to your room with your brother," Aria said, her voice dropping into a quiet, firm tone that left no room for argument.

"But I didn't finish my—"

"Now, Maya," Aria repeated gently.

Leo grabbed his sister’s wrist, pulling her toward the back hallway. "Come on. I’ll show you how to block his car’s Bluetooth."

As the children disappeared down the hall, the knock sounded again. Longer this time. Authoritative.

Marcus stepped toward the foyer, but Aria held up a hand, stopping him. "I'll open it."

"Aria, let me handle him," Marcus urged. "If he sees you flustered—"

"I'm not flustered," she said smoothly, standing up and pulling the lapels of her white blazer straight. "He spent five years thinking I was weak enough to drown. It’s time he learns who he’s actually dealing with."

She walked down the tiled hallway, her heels clicking rhythmically against the floor. She didn't hesitate. She unlocked the heavy deadbolt and pulled the door open.

Julian Vance stood on the threshold.

He had discarded his overcoat, wearing only a tailored charcoal three-piece suit. His tie was slightly loosened, his dark hair damp from the drizzle outside. Up close, the deep shadow beneath his eyes revealed the sheer exhaustion he was hiding behind a cold, rigid posture.

For three long seconds, neither of them spoke. The hum of the city rain filled the quiet space between them.

"You're trespassing, Mr. Vance," Aria spoke first, her tone polite, distant, and completely stripped of emotion.

Julian’s chest rose and fell in a slow, heavy breath. Hearing her voice, not in a recorded video or a distant memory, but standing two feet away from him made his hand twitch at his side. He wanted to reach out, to touch her shoulder, to verify that she was flesh and blood. But the ice in her eyes kept him pinned to the spot.

"Aria," he said. The name came out rough, scraped from the back of his throat.

"My name is Nyx," she corrected without a flinch. "If you're looking for art acquisitions, my management team handles appointments on Tuesdays. You can leave your card with the front desk."

She started to pull the door shut, but Julian placed a broad palm flat against the wood, stopping it. He didn't use force, but his weight held the door firm.

"Don't do this," Julian said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, desperate register. "Five years, Aria. Five years I thought you were at the bottom of the river."

"Then you should have buried your guilt with it," Aria replied, looking directly into his eyes. "Why are you here, Julian?"

"The children," he said flatly.

Aria’s pulse spiked, but her expression remained an impenetrable mask of marble. "What about them?"

"They have my eyes," Julian stepped closer, his voice dropping so low only she could hear it. "They are four years old. The math takes me straight back to the month before you disappeared. The month you left a signed divorce paper on my desk and vanished."

"Lots of children have gray eyes, Mr. Vance. It’s a common genetic trait."

"Not that shade," Julian countered, his jaw setting hard. "And not with the Vance family jawline. You can lie to the press, and you can lie to the art world, but don't stand there and lie to my face."

"I don't owe you a single explanation," Aria said softly, taking a step forward so she was inches from his chest. "You gave away my life's work to Chloe Bennett. You made it clear where I stood in your life. I owed you nothing five years ago, and I owe you even less today."

Julian looked down at her, a crack appearing in his hardened facade. "I was wrong about Chloe. I was wrong about... everything. I’ve spent every day since that night trying to undo it."

"You can't undo a dead body, Julian," she whispered bitterly. "You moved on. Now move off my doorstep."

Julian took a deep breath, pulling a white envelope from his inner jacket pocket. He held it out between them.

"What is that?" Aria asked, refusing to touch it.

"An emergency court petition," Julian said, his voice returning to its cold, corporate edge, though his eyes betrayed his inner turmoil. "Filed an hour ago. It requests a mandatory comparative DNA panel for both minors."

Aria looked from the envelope up to his face. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but her tone remained lethardic and sharp. "You think a piece of paper frightens me?"

"It doesn't have to frighten you. It just requires your compliance," Julian said softly. "The bailiff will serve it officially in two hours. Unless..."

"Unless what?"

"Unless you bring them to Vance Enterprise yourself," Julian said, taking his hand off the door. "We do the test privately. no media or court involved. Just you, me, and the truth."

Aria stood frozen as Julian took a step back into the hallway, his eyes searching her face one last time for a sign of the quiet, timid girl he used to know. He found none.

"You have until four o'clock today, Aria," Julian said softly. "If you aren't at my office by four, my legal team executes the public order. The media will have the story before the sun sets."

He turned and walked down the corridor toward the private elevators, his steps echoing loudly against the walls.

Aria stood at the open door, watching his retreating back. Behind her, Marcus walked up quietly, his face pale as he looked at the white envelope still resting on the small entryway table where Julian had placed it.

"Aria..." Marcus whispered. "If he gets that court order executed, the judges here will enforce it within twenty-four hours. What do we do?"

Aria didn't look back. She slowly reached out, picked up the white envelope, and tore it cleanly in half without opening it.

"Call the airport," Aria said, her voice dropping into a tone of absolute war. "Tell them to prepare the private jet."